Always Read the Label
by Jason Layton
Summary: One Shot, story of a drugs overdose. Some warnings for trigger, but more a morality tale. Unconnected to anything else!


**A morality tale!**

Of all the stupid silly incidents that happen during the day, of all the criminals he chases down, of all the dangerous situations his team gets into, what finally felled Greg Lestrade, was the new coffee machine in the mess.

After 15 years of replacing the mess kettle every couple of weeks, because lets face it electric kettles are awful and break without a moments notice, the department had clubbed together and bought a rather expensive coffee machine.

Sgt Donovan had gone and bought it, she'd wandered off to John Lewis' with the cash, and returned an hour later with a huge box, and an instruction booklet thicker than Gregs ex-wife. Really Greg new he should have read them, but well Sherlock was walking through the building and he couldn't cope, not without coffee.

At first there was very little pain, he'd yelped of course when the scolding liquid had burst from the pressure cap at the top of the machine, and poured down onto his hands. However when the blisters started forming Greg was surprised how little pain there was in fact if it hadn't been for the fact he could no longer flex his fingers, he probably wouldn't have noticed at all.

When John had entered Greg's office with the grumpy complaining Sherlock, Greg had shown him his hands. John wasn't as surprised as Greg, he'd looked at his hands, and then laid them gently on the desk, stepping out of the office and returning with a first aid kit and a very wet cold towel. He'd wrapped Greg's hands in the towel, fussing and clucking like a mother hen, then when the cold had seemped into Greg, making his hands sting, he coated them with lidocaine gel and wrapped them in gauze and bandages.

Greg had gone home after that, under Jhn's direct insistance, but his bandaged hands were a hindrance. He'd had difficulties opening the door, using the telly, using the loo, and in frustration had gone to bed. He was woken the next morning, by a very cheery John Watson, he'd unbandaged Greg's hands and tutting had given his diagnosis, long with his prescription.

2nd Degree burns and tendenitis. Keep the burns covered, take Fluoxcillin, Codiene, Ibruprofen and paracetemol. Four times a day without food. He promised to come and check on him the next day, but told him to rest his hands as much aas possible.

The day was frustrating, he could just about use his pc, using his index fingers but typing was tiring. He found a wonderful game called Club Penguin, designed for children but entertaining none the less. He'd made a penguin called Sherlock that had a disturbing similarity to the detective himself.

In fact Greg was so caught up with his penguin pal, that the day was lost before he knew it. Realising he'd missed a number of tablets, he decided to double everything up and go to bed.

He woke up at 4am, he knew the time because as his body lurched him awake, he'd seen the clock. His stomach cramped and he vomitted before he could do anything about it. Paralysed apart from his churning stomach Greg lay on his side emptying what was left of his stomach contents onto the garish carpet. After what seemed like hours, he passed out exhausted into a dreamless unconcious state.

* * *

><p>The next afternoon found Sherlock and John at a crime scene for DI Dimmock, a history of domestic abuse followed by suicide. The husband could be done for spousal abuse but little else, when John sidled over to Donovan.<p>

"Heard from the DI?" he asked her.

"Not since yesterday" she admitted, "went round this morning to keep him up to date but I got no answer"

John was slightly concerned about this and started asking the other members of the team, no one had heard from Lestrade since yesterday. In fact one young DC who John new as Tim, had admitted that although he'd phoned Lestrade that morning on both his landline and mobile he'd heard nothing from him, and the phones had rung out.

John had roughtly collected Sherlock from the scene, and bundled him into a taxi. Heaading straight for Lestrade's flat. Banging on the door he'd heard no signs of life, but Sherlock pointed to the open window, the DI was in.

Ringing resulted in the phone going and going, but no answer, and John was ever so concerned. Sherlock in a moment of practicality thought the best thing would be to break in. He popped the PVC security windows with practised ease, and the two men climbed through.

The flat was in darkness, lit by the login screen of club penguin, Penguin Sherlock beaming out at them, and making John smirk. The smell however of vomit and urine hit them soon after, and made John run to Gregs bedroom.

The grey faced DI was breathing but shallowly, his face a maask of filth and vomit, his eyes closed and his stomach still heaving. As Sherlock called for an ambulance, John cleared his airway, and lay him in the recovery position, swearing under his breath that anyone could be so stupid.

As he was loaded into the ambulance, and ohn and Sherlock watched him disappear, John put an arm around the quiet detective.

"Are you OK, mate?" he asked

"Yes, it's just odd really?" Sherlock admitted "Six years ago I was the OD loaded into the back of the ambulance, and Lestrade was the one breaking in to see me at my worse."

"That's the moral of course" John said shrugging "Prescription drugs even properly perscribed can be as dangerous as cocaine if not taken as prescribed."

"Always read the label" the detective supplied.

**Last night I accidentally OD'd on my prescription drugs, luckily my wife was there, and although I'm utterly fine it did give me a scare! ALWAYS READ THE LABEL and don't think you know best!**

**Also have a wonderful life partner who'll studies poisoning and have the local A&E on speed dial!**

**Yours groggily**

**Jason xxx**


End file.
